Mother of All Secrets(26)

“Did I say anything to you about having plans a while back, the week before last? With Isabel?”

He scrunched his forehead, sending his glasses sliding down his nose again. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

“No reason. It was something the cops mentioned. It was surely a mistake. Just kind of weirded me out, that’s all. But I’ve been home every night, right?”

“Yeah, definitely. I mean, you went out some weeks back with your teacher friends”—I gulped—“and then there was that random night you went walking.”

“What?”

“You remember. It was probably a week or two ago. You came home at like, eleven p.m. I didn’t even know you’d been gone. I knew you’d gotten up, but I figured it was to help Clara. But when you got back in bed, you said you couldn’t sleep and went for a walk.”

None of this sounded remotely familiar to me. I had definitely taken a few evening walks following days where I hadn’t managed to leave the house, or when my blood was boiling with the stress of the day, but I didn’t remember ever taking one so late at night. “What night was it?” My pulse was suddenly racing.

“Oh man. I have no idea. It might have even been a few weeks back. That’s probably why you don’t remember, because it was a while ago. It wasn’t a big deal. It’s not like it was the middle of the night. Lots of people take walks to calm down. It’s a little strange you don’t remember, but you’re tired. Don’t sweat it.”

He put his folder into his shoulder bag and then walked over to the counter and poured his mug of coffee into his ancient yellow Michigan thermos, spilling a few drops without noticing.

“Okay, I really gotta go. Bye, babe. Bye, smaller babe.” He kissed us both and was off to a day of being around other adults, using his brain and his degree. I wondered if he even thought of us while he was at work.

And I wondered where the hell I’d gone on this walk that I had no recollection of. And when exactly it had taken place. If there was a chance it was the Thursday that Isabel disappeared at around 10:30 p.m. Because all these questions led to the most important and frightening one, a question I didn’t even want to think, let alone utter out loud: Could I have had something to do with Isabel’s disappearance?





Chapter Eleven



Monday, October 5

I was desperate for some company and someone to talk about Isabel with. I had texted Kira, my usual first line for one-on-one hangouts, a couple of times in the past few days, actually, but she said she’d had some bad nights with Caleb, was super tired, not up for leaving her apartment. I would have offered to go there, but it seemed a little too pushy.

I thought about reaching out to my best friend, Jules. We’d been friends since freshman year of college when I’d had to tell her that I’d accidentally used her toothbrush in our hallway bathroom because our toiletry caddies were identical. “Um, you can keep it, obviously,” she’d said to me with a wry grin, and we were inseparable from then on. Jenn and Jules. We’d proudly declared ourselves J-Squared when we were drunk once, and laughed about it for hours, only to wake up the next morning and realize that it was not the least bit funny or clever, which made us laugh even harder.

Now Jules did interior design for stores, so she was frequently out and about rather than stuck in an office, and she’d told me several times that she could stop by whenever I wanted company while I was on maternity leave. But the truth was that we’d been off ever since I’d had Clara. It was hard to explain, but being with her made me feel more tired than I already was. She had so much energy, was so blatantly well rested, had so much freedom. She was super interested in Clara, and so sweet with her, but I worried that if I had to kick her out at a moment’s notice, like if Clara had a meltdown, or if I simply wanted to take advantage of her nap time to nap myself, she wouldn’t understand. Or if Clara was screaming and I couldn’t figure out why, she’d talk about me later over wine at 9:00 p.m. at some cute spot in the West Village with one of our other friends: “Oh my God, Jenn is struggling, huh? She looks like hell. Poor thing. When I’m a mom, I’m definitely going to . . .” and proceed to list all the ways they’d do it better, differently, than me, when it was their turn. Our relationship was also complicated by the fact that she was still single and I knew she wanted to be married with a baby, too, so I felt guilty complaining to her, even though my situation felt far from enviable. More often than not, I decided against calling her, after going through all these made-up scenarios of ways in which it could go poorly in my head.

I knew Vanessa was working, which still blew my mind, so I went out on a limb and texted Selena: Hey! Plans today? Any interest in coming over this afternoon? We weren’t necessarily super close, but I knew it would make me feel better to socialize.

She texted back right away and said Sounds good! Does around 3:00 work?

I tried to force myself to clean the apartment, though one mess just led to the next, making the task seem more and more insurmountable. If I ran the dishwasher, I’d have to put the dishes away. If I put clothes in the washer, I should really strip the bed and do the sheets, too. And then I’d have to put them in the dryer, and later fold them. If I scrubbed the bathtub, I’d have to clean the toilet and mirror, too. So instead, I did a half-hearted surface-level tidy while Clara took a twenty-minute nap in her bassinet and called it good enough when she woke up wailing, having somehow wrestled her arms out of her swaddle.